


no one is faithful

by Sonny



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:30:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 5 – A random kiss goodnight has spun both men out of control. The only thing to figure out now is what to do next... not an easy decision to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no one is faithful

**Author's Note:**

> For Sandra [no_pretending on LJ ]... : This fic [ the latter portion is actually an old “sex scene” I had sitting on my hard drive ; it fit too perfectly for Brian/Michael for not to use ] is a collaborative labor of love... I've written a majority of the “scene”, but had to change a few instances to help the passage fit Brian and Michael's world for this time period and the storyline.

[   
](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v163/sonnygrl/BrianMichael%20Cover%20Art/?action=view&current=NoOneIsFaithfulTitleName.jpg)

Brian can't believe he's been able to sit this still for so long. Or that he's been in this room for longer than an hour and he hasn't budged. He's been staring—he _is_ staring when he can spare a glance. His gaze isn't wandering around the room; it's concentrated and focused on one person— _Michael_. His arm is propped on the couch's puffed-out arm as his thumbnail scratches at his thick stubble. 

Well, it had been Michael and Ben, then an hour ago Ben had left to return to his office at Carnegie Mellon. He had forgotten to pick up a box of student papers he wanted to start grading—for the students who turned them in early. With the holidays coming up, Ben had wished to get a jump on things so he would have his time free to spend with Michael. Half an hour later as the temperature had dropped outside and the freezing rain began to coat the streets... it was looking quite bleak for Ben's safe return tonight. 

With a roomful of friends and family, Michael hadn't been bored or completely left alone. Guests did begin to leave to make it home safely, but some decided to stick it out to possibly stay the night. Pretty soon it was just the gang of four—Brian, Michael, Emmett and Ted and the two kids, Gus and Jenny. 

Taking the last phone call from Ben, Michael had hung his shoulders in silently misery. Ben was going to try to make it out and if he had any trouble, he would stay at his office until the roads were safer and he felt more confident driving. Michael had returned to the living room, sitting far away from Brian and closer to Jenny, who has a new fascination with hair-brushing and pretending she's a beautician—Michael blames his mother for this new up-cropping of talent—Emmett and Ted are no help as they egg Jenny on to putting more eye shadows and blushes on Michael's face. It's only Gus who realizes Michael's had enough and takes over the position as beauty queen “guinea pig”. 

Gus had been seated next to his father, on the couch, and Michael figures it would be awfully rude to sit anywhere but next to Brian. 

Brian hands Michael several Kleenex tissues as Michael takes the vacant spot. “It's really _not_ your color.” 

“Thanks.” Michael lets out a light laugh as he relaxes on the cushions, managing to keep some distance between he and Brian's thighs. “... an' thanks for coming tonight.” 

“I had nowhere else to be.” Brian really had nowhere else he _wanted_ to be. 

“Ben's staying at the college.” Michael doesn't know why he said it. He could've kept the mystery alive and gone to bed— _alone_. 

Brian is a bit startled, but he knows it's Michael's knee-jerk reaction to letting him into his private life. It's just now... Michael has become wary of Brian. And Brian thinks it's smart because he's not sure if he trusts himself since he doesn't know what's going on between them, but he knows he wants a chance to explore whatever _this_ is, further. “Michael, I...” He had unconsciously sent his hand out to cover Michael's knee, then Michael swiftly turns away, laughs nervously and stands. 

“This Kleenex is _not_ cutting it.” Michael warbles out as he slides by Brian's legs and walks the long way around the couch to head in the direction of the kitchen. He doesn't expect to be followed. 

Brian almost doesn't, but as he sits there, not really feeling good about what just happened, he looks around the room and stands to quickly trail behind. Brian catches Michael at the sink, arms splayed on the stainless steel ledge as he wipes at his eyes and cheeks. “Please... don't do _that_...” 

“Do— _what_?” Michael can play oblivious, but he _knows_ what Brian means. It has nothing to do with him cleaning his face off. 

“Act weird around me. It's why I almost didn't show.” 

“I can't help it. The awkwardness.” Michael sighs to turn his head to the other side of where Brian's not standing. “I don't mean to—it's not a reflection on you. It's _me_.” He swivels his head back around, periodically looking at Brian under lowered eyelashes as he dries his skin with a dishtowel. 

Brian furrows his brow as he crosses arms to lean on the side of the counter. “How is it _you_?” 

“That kiss, between us... it wasn't just _you kissing me_...” Michael lets out a frustrated noise from under his throat. “—it was _me kissing you_.” He's becoming upset with himself more than he is toward Brian. 

“And?” Brian still refuses to see what is so wrong with that. 

Michael sighs again as he stares into the sink. He spares a glance through the cut-away in the wall to see into the living room. “It was me...” The tone is lower, almost hushed. “—because I wanted _that_ —I needed to feel _that_. I haven't... I haven't felt close to you in a long time and I took the opportunity... and I cheapened it.” 

Brian begins to understand why he had felt Michael looking toward him so strangely all day. “You're curious—so am I. It feels...” He moves his shoulders like he's trying to fit his body back into a suit or something heavy over him—like he's adjusting clothing. “... _wrong_ not to be closer to you, like we once were. It felt great to get back a little of what we used to be.” Brian takes an unnatural pause and rounds the corner of the cabinetry to venture closer to Michael. “I miss you.” 

Michael doesn't shift backward like he's done before. “This is wrong, isn't it?” He furrows his brow with a bit of concern as he looks up at Brian. “I'm not... there's nothing lacking in my marriage—yet, it's the lack of... _you_ in my life I can't bear...” 

Brian averts his head, realizing he's got to leave now or he won't be responsible for what he does if they're left alone after everyone is asleep. “I should go.” 

“No... don't.” Michael grabs onto Brian's arm, hand holding the biceps tight. “I don't want you out there, if this weather is only going to get worse.” 

Brian is touched by Michael's worry for him. He takes his hand off his arm. “I've driven in shit like this before. In fact, I may have driven when I wasn't quite as sober as I am now.” 

“Stay. Take the couch.” Michael doesn't know what to do with the hand Brian took off of him, so he settles it between them on the counter surface. “Or... I'll pull out an old sleeping bag, you can sleep on the floor.” 

“Michael, I—” 

“ _DaDaDaDaDa...Dadda-Dadda..._ ” Jenny chimes as she stumbles in from the living room, past the dining area and barrels into the kitchen at the perfect moment and attaches herself to Brian's leg. She leans her head on the powerful shape of the leg, looking up at her father with the silliest grin on her face. 

As Brian bends down to lift Jenny, he places her on his hip, against his chest. He cups the back of her head as he leans in toward Michael. “Have courage. We'll talk later.” Brian turns to face the other direction, out of the kitchen. “Come on... sit with us on the couch.” He reaches out with his free hand to latch onto Michael. 

Michael allows himself to be dragged by Brian's hand, back toward the living room. The television is out, and on now, and they're trying to watch some holiday-oriented favorites. Brian takes a new spot on the cushion and with Jenny laying on his chest, nestled to the right, Brian puts an arm where Michael plops down. At first Michael sits there, still and tense. After a while, he gets a bit more comfortable where he tucks a leg under and sits turned into the curve of Brian's arm. Jenny crawls across Brian to reach her father and now she's propped herself fairly comfortably across both men's thighs. It doesn't take long for Jenny to drift off. Michael decides to take her to bed; he tells everyone “ _g'night_ ” since he might go to bed himself. 

It's a good twenty minutes later that Brian's assured Michael's gone to bed. Gus is laying on the floor, dozing off, so Brian chooses to guide his son to bed or the kid will regret sleeping on the floor when he has a nice, comfy bed upstairs. Well, there are two—bunk beds. Gus offers the bottom bunk to his father. Brian thanks Gus and says he'll consider it; he was still contemplating leaving to save Michal that added fear—his own fear too—that he will end up doing something not so smart or nice. 

~~ 

It's well past midnight, Brian knows and he can't sleep. He's tried, but he can't fall asleep for longer than a few chunks of minutes at a time, knowing that Michael is alone, upstairs, in that huge master bedroom. Brian hadn't taken Gus' offer of the other bunk bed, but had allowed Emmett and Ted to argue over who got the rights to the twin bed. They had compromised and both were in Gus' room, though one of them had gotten the cramped twin mattress; the other had taken the more uncomfortable chance to lay between two pliable bean bag chairs. 

Brian is downstairs by himself, tossing and turning on the couch. He had dressed down to his tank-t and tight boxer briefs, managing to suffice with the simple quilt that had been over the back of the couch. He had only two complaints: the decorative pillows weren't plush enough to sleep on and the inability of his mind not to wander into thinking what exactly Michael was doing behind that closed bedroom door. 

On his last flip onto his right side, Brian grumbles that he's gonna take a wild chance that Michael's not sleeping any better than he is. He throws off the quilt, marches up the staircase, two steps at a time, and stops directly in front of the paneling. He glances at both ends of the hallway, toward the other bedroom doors and decides he'll use a single knuckle to knock quietly on the wood. When he doesn't hear a response, Brian still considers he's allowed to enter, as long as he keeps a good distance and doesn't go anywhere near the bed. He slips through the crack of the door and the door-jamb, then deliberately shuts the paneling behind himself with a slow shove into the locking mechanism of the latch—he doesn't lock the door, because he knows that would be taking things too far. 

Arms crossed at his back, he leans on the door with an irregular breathing pattern making his chest heave. He can feel and hear his blood pumping and his heart beating fast. He doesn't know why this seems like the most difficult thing he's ever done in his life. Maybe because this feels like he's taking a gradual step towards something more with Michael, the “something more” he's forever running away from. 

“Michael...” Brian manages to mutter out, hoping he won't have to call out too loudly and wake up the others in the house. He takes a tentative steps beyond the door, hoping for no creaks in the floor where he plants his feet. “Mich—” 

Brian isn't even allowed to finish when Michael's already turning in bed; he had been facing away, back to the door. Now Michael's wide awake, and glancing over his shoulder. And it's as Brian had feared, Michael's not been sleeping peacefully either. Brian watches with wide eyes as Michael shifts to settle on his back, then scoots over to be close to the center of the huge bed. He throws back the covers as if the silent invitation is always offered, no matter what might be going on with them. 

Brian clears his throat, takes a mighty gulp of air and pushes further into the room to make it to the bed frame. He turns to lift up his right leg to slide it onto the mattress and then slip completely under the light covers. The strange thing is... Michael hasn't budged from the center of the mattress to escape to his side of the bed. 

Only a few inches keep them apart, and Michael senses the atmosphere charge with electricity as Brian leans on elbows, accompanied with the covers easing over them. Michael takes in a hesitating, nervous breath as he drops down to lay fully on his back, head caved into the pillow below his head. Brian traces his fingers delicately along a shoulder blade, dropping a palm down Michael’s right arm, sliding along the ribcage to finally rest against the jutting hipbone. Michael's body goes stiff; he doesn't want to make one move. He refuses to even knock the hand off. 

“ _Michael?_ ” Brian can barely force out of his clogged throat as he leans in. There’s an accidental brush of nose tip to bare skin, soft hairs raising and the tingle running down the spine. Brian feels the quiver, the silent acceptance of what’s to come next. 

Michael lifts his hand to wrap his palm along the back of Brian's nape, then yanks the face toward his own, palm feeling the rough _scrape-scrape_ of stubble burn. He already knows what Brian's thinking, doesn't even need to hear much being said or questions asked in the fading moonlight. 

They both know this is not only a bad turn to take, but a wrong one. Why does it _feel_ exactly what they should be doing? 

Their lips meet in a mode of tenderness, a mere touch of mouths and puffs of heated air against bare flesh in the darkness. Michael is the one who deepens their merging, gripping fingers tight in Brian's over-long locks and widening the gap of his mouth as Brian's tongue flickers out along his bottom lip. 

Brian takes in a strong force of air, a near gasp, then he opens his own lips in hurried response. There’s sudden movement, Michael sliding over as he slips under Brian’s hovering form. A wandering hand shifts from hip to move along Michael's side to surround his arm; the touch is wary and woeful as if Michael might change his mind. Directly above Michael, his frame looms, steady and strong, so careful not cause a need to scurry away. Slowly lowering his lids to lift them up quickly, Michael draws back. The heat from Brian's body is near unbearable, the steam of their blended breathes on his lips. 

Michael exhales a hushed sound of “ _Brian_ ”, then he traces his palms along Brian's spine to place along his waist, his fingertips dropping below the bottom hemline of his tank-t and soothing the warm skin there. He senses Brian's quivering above him, his stomach muscles clenching at the touch. “ _... you're all right._ ” The words are balms in a way Michael's caresses aren't. “ _... it's gonna be okay..._ ” He tugs lightly on Brian's body to bring them in full contact. 

One leg spreads wide, allowing for their bodies to meld and shape together. Brian mewls as their pelvises merge and Michael dips upward, muttering against his mouth. Hands delve beneath soft cotton material as their kissing remains tender, then deepens passionately. Michael settles his hand along the flushed skin as the kisses become tender nips and brushes of nose tips tickle as their tongues meet and lick as if to savor one another's taste. 

Brian takes hold of Michael's biceps, forcing the tightness of the t-shirt across Michael's torso to stretch along his chest wall; Brian's hips move in a slow pace against Michael's lower body. Raising one leg to hook about Brian's thigh, he bucks upward and Brian tears away from their kiss with a moan, tucking his face near the side of Michael's head with a mumbled pained sound of “ _Michael_ ”. Brian already knows he's about to spiral out of control, but so thankful in losing himself in the throngs of pleasure he's aware he can only get from Michael—he's still scared. This is a risk he's unsure he wants to take, long after they've already spent so long rebuilding what they once lost. 

Thrusting upward again, Michael can feel the shape of Brian's cock against him as he tightens his leg around Brian's thigh, higher now to lift off the mattress. Brian moans into Michael's neck, returning the small shift by pushing down with his hips and then taking tiny bites at the niche of shoulder to neck. Michael lets out a breath between clenched teeth, arcing his head back against the pillow, exposing a stretch of pale neck for Brian's perusal. “ _Yes_ ,” he echoes again and again on a slow groan as Brian steals the offering, slipping hands from under Michael's arms to flit along his back, pushing against the shoulder blades. Michael's stiffness feels the slip-slide of Brian's thigh, the gnaw of front teeth below his lobe and the slow burn of prickly yet soft hairs of Brian's beard; Michael cants his hips, releasing short breathes. 

He’s reached the point of no return, sooner than he expected. Michael never saw a moment of reprieve, where he could innocently back off and end this before it became something deeper, more serious. It’s been too long since he’s had this kind of acceptance. This sense of freedom of self and fulfillment. He bunches the soft cotton material in his hands, commanding in a deeper voice than usual that he wants the tank-t off and he hurriedly yanks at the hem to pull the material over Brian's head. Reluctant to shift back from Michael, to lose any kind of close contact with the delectable body, Brian makes an unusual pause in his actions, allowing Michael to settle by gently tracing fingers along his ribcage before soothing his palms over the spread of his broad chest. 

Even in the dark he can see **_it_** in Brian’s eyes. Michael knows it’s been his fault for the emotions being there. The need for a pause, to hesitate. To be afraid and frightened of what was to come next. He hasn’t been the most trustful or cooperative, but then again he thinks Brian’s more aware of what he’s feeling than his own at this very second. Discovering Brian’s more careful of him than himself helps Michael to make the decision to pursue. Not the smartest choice he’s made, but these past few days have taught him that maybe he’s been living his life with too much constraint, not enough spontaneity. 

He’ll do this, if he has to, even if it means he has to take Brian by the hand and show him what he wants. Michael’s fingers are deft and smooth, helping Brian to lift the cotton material from his long torso. While the shirt is pulled over Brian’s head, Michael admires the elongated length of chest above him. He touches in fascination of the fine form, caresses up and down, wide span of hands flying over the muscles and skimming pert nipples. He isn’t prepared for the full brunt of weight again as Brian’s half-naked frame lands on him. He puffs out a strangled breath this time, his body more receptive to the pressure of another’s body. Michael arcs back against the pillow as his hands move down to take off his own t-shirt. 

Brian’s fingers are there, replacing Michael’s and starting to tickle playfully to lighten an intense mood. He smiles down at Michael, hopeful the intention is understood. This won’t matter if Michael doesn’t want it to. He’ll kindly forget and move on if Michael has other pursuits—if he still believes he can work things out with Benjamin. Brian will try not to care so much, tucking away his heart as he’s always known to do. He’s curious to the slight shake of Michael’s head, the slow blink of soft lashes on pale cheeks. 

He’s reminded of the moment in the foyer of Michael's house—their random kiss goodnight, that split second of fire and passion, of want of something real, something tangible. Brian knows he could have it if he was brave enough to ask, but he can’t so he suffices with bare essentials and men who don’t end up loving him as completely as he knows he needs. 

There’s a twist to Brian’s features that make Michael furrow his brow with worry. Not that he’s scared but that he realizes how much more in love with Brian he's become. He doesn’t want to break Brian’s heart, he can’t even think about being as cruel as he had been in those earlier days of their friendship breaking apart. Now he’s more afraid Brian will quit him, this will be done without even nearing full nakedness or physical release. Another lonely night of untapped sexual tension. 

He feels Brian’s hands catching on his sweatpants, tugging on the loose elastic band and making a fist in the material. He reaches up to grip the sides of Brian’s face, almost forcibly pulling him down. Brian is stronger so the move pulls Michael upright instead and he lays his cheek against the side of Brian’s face. His fingers delve into the long brown locks, searching for traction. “ _I know, I know,_ ” he’s whispering these words toward an ear. “ _You don’t think I’m feeling the same as you._ ” He has difficulty swallowing as he can almost feel the painful moan rise up inside Brian, the need to pour out hidden sorrow of past losses and regrets. There’s buried emotions in every smile and playful smirk of Brian’s face. “ _—-well, I am._ ” 

Brian almost can’t take the way Michael eases him back into the moment, when he was about to call this quits or he’d rip off every single stitch of clothing and do something he wouldn’t be proud of the next morning. He hates how accepting Michael is in the cool dark of early morning, safe in the privacy of their shared bed. He’s breaking fast and unwilling to allow someone else to take his burdens. 

Isn’t that what sex is for? Release the stresses of the day, your innermost issues laid out in front of you and delicately handled to the partner of your choosing? Well, at least that’s what Brian has always thought sex was for people. 

Michael moves to slide down the tight boxers Brian’s wearing. As soon as they’re off, thrown over the side of the mattress with their pile of shirts, Michael’s guiding Brian’s hands to his waist, then showing him not only does he want his sweatpants off, but underwear as well. 

He throws off Michael’s hands, taking over undressing him so he can slink down the body like he’s been wanting to do for too long. He hasn’t even glanced once toward the hardness laying against the patch of pubic hair and flat pelvic bone. He’s more intent on making Michael _feel_ every touch of whatever he’s using to caress with; lips, fingers, palms, even his own blunty-cut hair. Michael doesn’t laugh or giggle if the move tickles, it sounds painful and wanton. Like he’s about to come at any minute with a powerful jolt of his body. 

Once he’s rid Michael of all clothing, he’s sliding back up the frame, fitting himself between the thighs spread open for him. There’s such heat between them now their flesh is starting to perspire, especially wherever they meet. Brian can feel it, the single drop of sweat, from a hairline on down his spine to the base of his lower back. Michael’s hands are now there, spreading the droplet over the bare skin and dropping down between the top of the crack of the backside. 

He wants to feel the power of the thrust, feel the throb of the cock against his bare skin. If Michael can make a solid, sustainable choice and come to grips with the decision... it’s that there won’t be any penetration. Not _now_ , not _tonight_. That kind of choice would be too much. He might actually start to lose the rest of his heart to Brian, and that’s a want he knows he can’t have. 

When their bodies pull apart, their hard lengths being released free, the sensitive under-skin of their shafts skim one another's flesh. Michael’s releasing another cry and arcing back, Brian’s lips are on his neck, licking and lapping at pulsing tendons, sometimes biting if it feels needed. He’s got one hand holding Michael down, while the other slips between their bodies, the back of his knuckles brushing along the line of chest. He takes the thickness in his palm and moans at the near fire he feels, like his own flesh is burning in flames. He pulls up, thumb pad skimming over the leaking tip. He tries to find a steady rhythm Michael can subtly move to. 

Michael opens his mouth and is quickly silenced by Brian’s lips taking possession. The kissing is no longer soft, it’s hard and rough, almost life or death, breathes being stolen and air being shared. There’s a meeting of tongues and near-clanging of teeth as their heads twist this way and that way, trying to find a deeper more exhilarating way to meet their lips to convey their feelings. 

Skin on skin and rolling of hips like the bodies need to do. The friction is electric and jarring, sending both of them into fits of pleasure and ecstasy. They don’t want to get ahead of the other, so they try to pace themselves. Not easy. Not when this moment has been dormant between them since they began to talk again after going their separate ways. 

Between tufts of breath, Michael tries to speak. “Where—?” 

Brian’s not even paying attention, the words came from so low in Michael’s belly that he’s able to feel the vibration of his intake and outtake of air to even speak. “What?” His voice breaks with emotion, sounding tight and high, cracking a little around the edges. 

Michael takes one hand, sending it backwards so the fingers tap against the headboard. He doesn’t want to completely let go of Brian and not touch him at all, but he has to make his point made. He loosens his hold and sends his other arm upward. He interlocks his fingers above his head, on the pillowcase, and sends his body into a sudden movement of arching off the mattress. 

Narrowing his eyes on the hands, how they don’t move from their position, Brian takes one of his own hands and wraps it around the two wrists. As he holds Michael down, or attempts to, they begin to move in tandem, while one thrusts in, the other takes and so on and so on. Their cocks are trapped between their bodies, the tight squeeze causing them to react as if they were masturbating singly. 

Michael widens the spread of his legs, he does this whenever he feels the building of an orgasm start to fluctuate around his abdomen. He’s locking both legs around Brian’s thighs, each thrust sending his bottom off the bed. Brian’s in much the same predicament, as he’s often a little more aggressive the closer he gets to a release. His hips are gyrating faster and faster, increasing their speed until he’s not even sure if Michael is keeping up with him. He no longer cares, it’s all about orgasming now. 

He’s not holding Michael down any longer, now he’s brought his other hand up. He’s got a wrist in each palm and Michael’s wiggling his hands around to thread their fingers together. He hasn’t dropped his arms, which clues Brian in that they’ll keep them up there until they’ve both come. Or until they both ache so much they can’t stand the position any longer. 

Michael’s intensifying his counter-thrusting, he’s almost close enough to ejaculation that he’s panting now. Brian’s keeping his face near, cheek to cheek with Michael, he’s panting and deep breathing just as much as Michael is. He doesn’t know how but he feels it, the moment of Michael’s body jolting. The action is barely there until he moves the same way a second time, but this time there's a cry out with release. 

Michael's able to control the cry by biting his bottom lip. His face contorts in what looks like pain but it shifts into euphoria. He’s not stopping the rolling of his hips, not until he knows Brian’s orgasmed as well. Even though he’s aware of his semen being spread over their skin, he keeps undulating against Brian until he senses the moment, the way Brian tightens his body, his hands squeezing Michael’s fingers as if he’s ridding them of blood. 

“ _Oh, God!_ ” Brian cries out into the pillow’s plushness, using his forehead as leverage to breathe. 

“I _know_.” Michael agonizingly sighs out on a release of air, like a long-kept secret. 

“ _... i’s good... i’s good..._ ” Brian can’t stop moving, the feeling is so intense inside that he’s unable to end this moment of release. He feels Michael’s lips on his skin, the whispered words in his ear, but he’s unclear of what's said or done. He’s trying to come down from a natural high and all he wants to do is to sink into Michael, lay buried within and drift off into nothingness. He can’t believe he was about to shout out something else as he came, something he knows would have startled Michael and possibly chased him away. 

How could the words “I love you” drip so easily off his lips when he doesn’t even know if Michael still likes him any longer? 

  
**~*~the end**   



End file.
